


Wine, carnage, and sick guitar riffs

by shadesofpemberley



Series: The SanSan Eurovision AU Collection [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, The second Eurovision AU that you never asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofpemberley/pseuds/shadesofpemberley
Summary: Wine, carnage, and sick guitar riffs. What else does a man need when he's visiting Europe?A second Eurovision AU. Not connected to the One Bird AU.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: The SanSan Eurovision AU Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748242
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	Wine, carnage, and sick guitar riffs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thunderstruck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077059) by [Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat). 



> You can blame the women on the SanSan discord for this one too.
> 
> The biggest of thanks to Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat for allowing me to play in her Thunderstruck sandbox.
> 
> A second Eurovision AU. Not connected to the One Bird universe.

Raucous laughter boomed over the act currently playing on stage. Again. Sansa looked across the booth at Jeyne, rolled her eyes and called for the attendant to complain about the noise coming from the booth to their left. An hour into the show, with another 3 to go, and the booth to their left were already well on their way to a massacre of the stocked bar supplied by the show runners. A little wine to keep the nerves at bay. It sounded like a bottle of wine had turned into a swimming pool of it.

Sansa Stark, the nation’s sweetheart. With flowing red hair, and skin like porcelain, she was the reigning Eurovision champion, and as such, had a large booth in the centre of the floor in front of the stage. Around her, there were bands from all over the world who had yet to compete, or had already finished their number. “Clearly, they’ve been on stage already.” Sansa thought to herself “no one could get that drunk and still stand up and play a guitar.” She scolded herself for thinking so rudely of the other competitors. “Who am I to judge them on how they relax after a show?”.

Jeyne Poole had grown up with Sansa at the latter’s home, Winterfell, and had accompanied her to her first Eurovision Song Contest the year before. Now, she was not only Sansa’s friend, but also coordinated her trips and television appearances. Jeyne, while not the most adventurous of friends, always had Sansa’s best interests at heart, and could see that her friend was straining to hear the act currently playing. Sansa would be expected to answer questions from reporters and complete a segment for the international televised portion of the show, and Jeyne had had quite enough.

The attendant, a young man called Podrick, climbed the steps to the booth at Jeyne’s behest. With a quick look across at Sansa, who was looking at the stage with a strained smile, Jeyne asked Podrick if anything could be done about the band occupying the booth to the left of them. “You know the cameras will be down here shortly,” she said, thinking of Sansa’s upcoming interview. Podrick nodded sharply, and left the booth to speak to one of the security coordinators. “Eurovision is a party, but it has prestige.” he thought. He had worked his way from a door steward to a performer attendant. He was trusted with the nation’s finest musicians, or, finest animatronics in the case of some countries. He looked across at the booth in question as he walked towards the security team at the back of the hall. One of the largest men he’d ever seen was drinking directly from a bottle of red wine, and another was clearly on the lookout for another attendant walking past to try and grab… vodka. As Ethan Glover had walked past, one of the smaller men in his line of sight had swiped a bottle right from the tray in Ethan’s hands. Podrick shook his head again and continued on his way to Tormund. He’d know what to do.

Sandor “The Hound” Clegane leant back in the booth, stretched his legs out, and surveyed the stage in front of him. There was a man in what looked to be a suit made of tinfoil on stage. “What the fuck have I let these swineherds talk me into this time?” Sandor thought. Thoros, having swiped a bottle of vodka off a passing attendants tray shook the bottle “what do we say boys? A shot before the show?” he laughed heartily as he lined up glasses for everyone.

Cannibal Star were the outliers this year. A heavy metal band at a music competition. They were known for their dirge riffs, maniacal hardcore outbursts, and droning industrial and gothic atmosphere. Not the kind of band that was expected to perform at the Eurovision Song Contest. Sandor took another swig of wine. “A fucking EuroFest, is that right?” he muttered, shaking his head. 

Mid winter, Beric had called the band together and told them that there was “a perfect opportunity to get the band’s name out there”. He’d shown up at the studio waving his arms about this “EuroFest” that wanted them to perform. Harwin, being the quintessential easy going member of the band, had agreed without much convincing. Beric had clapped him on the shoulder and moved onto Bronn, and then Thoros next. For Bronn, all it took was reminding him of the last time they went on a Euro tour. He was determined to ‘make the eight’ as disgusting as it sounds and was somewhere around halfway through gifting the women of the different continents a night in his bunk on the bus. At least he gave them a good time before moving onto the next tour location, “even if his face is nearly as ugly as mine, and his conversation worse” Sandor thought. Thoros simply had to be reminded of the Ouzo in Greece before clapping his hands and shouting “i’m in!” and jumping onto the couch to google where the EuroFest (as Beric called it) would be held.

The final challenge had been convincing their lead guitarist that another trip to Europe was a good idea so recently after their last tour. They had bitched, whined and cajoled him, and as a group they’d convinced him that “yes, it was a good idea” and “no, they wouldn’t get messy and have him be a human meat shield for them in a bar fight against a Russian man called Biter” again.

In the lead up to the trip, Sandor had found it strange that Beric was taking so much interest in what he was packing to wear on the trip. “The same fucking thing I always pack!” he’d roared down the phone after Beric phoned him for the 5th time to confirm that yes, he’d “still be wearing all black.” Needless to say, he’d been fucking lied to. Lied to, and he was pissed about it. He’d known as soon as he walked into the Arena that this was no “EuroFest”. Where was the pit? It was full of cameras. Where were the crowds of unwashed men ready to dive headfirst towards the stage as metalheads were wont to do? He was wildly aware that they were out of place, but nothing could be done about that now.

Sandor stood up and stretched his arms out above his head, shaking off the feeling of dread in his stomach. You’d think after years of performing, the stage fright would leave. “Same fucking thing every time” he grumbled. “There’s always someone new to gasp in horror at this fucking mess.” He scrubbed a hand over the ruined half of his face and grabbed the bottle of Dornish red, making the decision that it would be coming with him to the stage. As he swept a hand back through his hair, he looked to his right. The bottle was halfway to his mouth when his eyes caught a pair of blue ones at the next booth over. The girl looked shocked for a split second before rearranging her face into a neutral expression as she turned to look at the stage again.

He buckled forward as Bronn jumped up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come on, you big, grumpy, bastard. It’s time to go!” Sandor turned to see a man, nearly his own height waiting at the side of their booth. He had wild ginger hair, an even wilder beard, and in a gruff voice he bit out “that’s right, time to go boys.” and held out his arm in the direction of the stage door.

The unlikely crew traipsed towards the stage, meandering past other booths full of performers. Bronn just about tripped over his jaw when he saw the women sitting in the booth for the performers from Sweden, and Beric may as well have been skipping as he took in the flashing lights and shimmering wall coverings surrounding the arena.

Tormund, at least that’s what his armband said, had led them to the stage door where he opened it and herded them through, but not before grabbing the bottle of vodka that Thoros had swiped and was still carrying. “That’s enough of that for now, hm?” before looking at the bottle of wine in Sandor’s hand. “Do we need to confiscate that one too?” the man asked. Sandor growled his reply, “No, you fucking don’t.” he downed the remainder of the bottle, thrust it into Tormund’s hands and pushed past the rest of the group to walk into the wings of the stage. The roadies had already set up their kit for them, and after a final check of their instruments, the band were ready to go.

Sandor could feel the pulsing of the crowd in the seated areas of the arena, but it would be strange for Cannibal Star to be playing without the mess of a mosh pit in front of them. The number of cameras in front of him made his skin crawl, and he wished that he hadn’t downed the dornish red he’d been carrying earlier. The song they were playing started with a heavy riff, and they were off.

Sandor looked out in the crowd and it took less than a few seconds to pinpoint where she was sitting. He could see her hair from here, and her legs were a mile long in the short silver dress she was wearing. He swallowed a groan and stamped on the effects pedal at his feet before launching into his guitar solo. His heart was pounding as he slid from fret to fret, and he felt her eyes on him as he cruised through the solo with ease. He flipped his hair out of his face, uncovering his scars and felt freer for it. As his solo ended, he saw Beric jumping from an amp to grab his microphone again before powering through the final chorus of the song. The lights faded and the arena went wild as he laughed with abandon. The band strode off the stage, handing off their instruments and all but running back to their booth where Harwin collapsed onto a sofa first, where he was shortly surrounded by Bronn, Beric, and Thoros. 

Sandor felt eyes on him as he reached down to grab for another bottle of wine that was stashed under the table. Grey eyes caught blue with the girl at the next booth again, and he’d had enough. He strode out of his booth and walked straight towards her, though to say or do what, he hadn’t quite decided. He heard the brown haired girl next to her gasp as he leaned in. “Take a long hard look, girl”. Sandor rasped, and she flinched. Instantly regretting his decision, he took a step back from her and moved to walk away when he felt a hand on his arm. “I’d like to continue taking a look, if you’d like to join me for a drink.” Sansa said, sweetly. She was like one of those little birds, tweeting out a song for him. He laughed long and hard until he realised that she was still standing, waiting for a reply. “You,” he started, “you want to have a drink with me?”. She looked at him as if he’d spoken another language. “Well, there’s another 3 hours of voting for us to get through.” she laughed. It sounded like a bell chiming. “THREE FUCKING HOURS?!” he bellowed. She laughed again. “I can tell it’s your first time, so why don’t you sit down?” His body was clearly miles ahead of his brain as he felt himself folding down into the chair next to her.

Jeyne looked at Sansa as though she’d grown a second head before standing up. “At least all but one of your interviews are done, but remember, you have a reaction cam! Right there!” She gestured to the camera man sitting about 8 feet away as he swung around, getting different shots of the crowd.

As Jeyne left the booth, Podrick looked between Sansa and Jeyne as if he was torn. Sansa simply smiled and told him to follow Jeyne. “I’ll be quite safe, i’m sure.” she murmured as she grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and poured two glasses. “Aye, you’ll be safe here, little bird” Sandor said. He was spellbound by the way her hair shone in the arena lighting, and how her eyes flashed when she looked up at him.

Hours later, the rest of Cannibal Star (and their roadies) had made their way into the much larger booth which had been set aside and previously only occupied the reigning champion and her retinue. They had all but forgotten about votes being cast from country to country, but with drinks flowing, Beric had pressed Sansa for information on what it was like being the winner of the contest. Sandor, always conscious of the cameras surrounding them, hadn’t moved but to stretch his arm out along the sofa behind her. Her hair brushed his arm and he felt his skin prickle as she laughed at something Harwin said and rested her hand on his thigh. She looked up at him as an announcement came over the speakers and the screen lit up in front of them. With public voting complete, the votes were being tallied. Sansa pointed at the screen excitedly, but Sandor only had eyes for her. 

The crowd roared, and confetti exploded from the rafters. He felt Beric grabbing his arm, and felt the brush of a much softer hand on the other. Suddenly, Sansa was bouncing in her seat, pointing at the screen in front of them, “You’ve won!” she shouted, “You did it!”. The next few seconds were a blur. He heard Bronn and Thoros yelling, Harwin laughing, and Beric clapped his hands in elation before trying to pull everyone into a hug. Sandor resisted for a second before he let himself be pulled into the group as a bottle of champagne popped somewhere next to them and flowed freely like rain around their heads. Tormund hustled the band away for their encore, leaving Sansa in the booth to carry out her final on camera sign off for the night.

The band took to the stage, and Sansa looked up at Sandor as he strummed his guitar to the opening riff. Sansa wasn’t the type to make rash decisions, she felt confident as she strode from her booth to the stage door. Tormund was waiting, his laugh booming as she flashed her AAA access pass and he bowed extravagantly as she walked past him to access the wings of the stage as Sandor started his solo. She could see him looking from the neck of the guitar to the crowd, scanning, looking for something. No, someone. He looked angry as he looked back down at his guitar, and she whistled with her fingers from the curtains.

He looked up incredulously and laughed as he saw her swaying along with the music. Unlike Sansa, Sandor was the type to make rash decisions. As the encore ended and the lights dimmed again, Sandor strode off the stage, thrust his guitar into the hands of the nearest tech, and gathered Sansa into his arms, pressing his lips to hers with wild abandon. He heard his bandmates whooping in the background, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt Sansa grasp his shirt and they pulled apart, laughing.

Sandor looked down at Sansa, who was blushing profusely. “I guess this means we’re both winners?” She asked, before looking down at her hands which were still on his chest. Sandor tipped her chin up with one finger and chuckled. “I think i’ve found something far better than Eurovision tonight.”


End file.
